War For The Oaks

On that night, there were voices in Peavey Plaza. One was like the susurrus of the fountain itself, sometimes hissing, sometimes with the little-bell sound of a water-drop striking. The other was deep and rough; if the concrete were an animal, it would have this voice.

This copy I actually bought again at Worldcon so that the author could sign it. I think I then gave away my original copy.